Lap of Luxury
by Dunas Priest
Summary: She coils her hands around the serpent, but he always slips out. The infuriating sound of his bloody hiss never fails to render her into silent rage. One-shot. Not slash. Mockingjay spoilers.


LAP OF LUXURY

The woman stands and begins to leave.

He does not bother to watch her go. Instead, he shuts his eyes, leaning over the edge of his seat, relaxing himself as he hears the familiar clicking of boots, echoing through the garden and irritating his peace.

Even cradled in the lap of luxury, his personal thatch of roses, some things can still serve to annoy him.

The pest goes careening past his favorite row of rose bushels, completely disregarding them, not even pausing to observe. In less frantic times, he had once personally tended to them. Nowadays, well, he would be lucky enough to get any water at all, let alone for the flowers.

Not that he's complaining, of course.

He exhales, then breathes in again. That delicious smell of roses, how delightful it is. To him, it has always reminded him of perfection. Something that the woman will never have, will never understand.

"President Coin."

She stops mid-step. Does not turn around. Only waits for his words impatiently but anxiously.

"That was tactless, you know. The trick with the parachutes."

The woman tenses, her muscle fibers poised to action. She wants to stop him from speaking, from leaking the truth. But who is even there to listen? And who would ever testify in a serpent's favor? What does she have to be afraid of? She does not know. The only thing she knows is that she fears.

"I had already lost by then, as I am sure you could tell. The people's trust in me had already been completely deconstructed at that point. To put it bluntly, that move was little more than brute ruthlessness, wasn't it, President Coin? A hopeless, silly, childish act."

Her hands clench into fists, gripping her palms and shaking with the sheer force of her rage, rendering her arms violent. She turns just a tad, the side of her body facing him, but dares not show her face, how twisted it is in her mindless fury.

"You're childish, Alma Coin. Very childish. It sickens me, actually. That such a manchild will soon take my place. It was out of jealousy that you targeted the Mockingjay, and jealousy that you roused District 13. You may have the rebels fooled, but I can see right through your superfluous facade. And most of all... so can the Mockingjay."

_Mockingjay_. That word sends a cold knife through her breast. She whips around completely, eyes burning with frozen hatred. She starts to approach him. He continues speaking. He isn't fazed.

"I know you, Alma. I know every bit of you. You and the rest of your kind, you're all the same. You have no tact, no sense, no mind for business. And this is why you will fail. Because everything you do is too brash, too silly. The handle was rough, the execution ridiculously stupid. Even I could have done a much better job, and we know how poorly I have performed in the past few days."

She is only a few feet from him, her pace quickening. Her breath is ragged.

"You may have bested me in that little game, President Coin, but you lost the match. And that is what is most important. I may be beaten, I may be bleeding. I may have no one on my side. But you know what, Alma?"

She grabs him by the shirt. Her hands are shaking.

"In the end, you will be the one most alone. And the one who will kill you will be the very one who you tried so desperately to break."

A smile creeps onto his face.

"You're going to die, President Coin. You are going to be murdered, and I will laugh. I promise you that."

The woman, hands stuttering in face of her anger, rears back a palm. She watches as that look fills his eyes, that look of cocky conceit, that one look that she'd always hated.

She smacks him. The snap of palm hitting cheek reverberates throughout the garden.

He starts to chuckle. It degenerates into bloody coughing. The droplets of blood start to speckle the floors, his lap, his mouth.

She snatches him by the shirt again. "Stop laughing," she commands, but she has no control over him now.

He continues to laugh blood.

The funny thing is that she never had any control in the first place.


End file.
